


Evoke in Me All That Which I Run From

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Sensuality, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mando has had quite a life, and it is with an innocently humble disposition that he thinks it hasn’t even really begun yet. This is just one, brief moment picked from a wavering line of millions of others.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Female Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Kudos: 79





	Evoke in Me All That Which I Run From

Kuiil contents himself comforting his blurrgs down in the cargo hold, they’re agitated from the constant turbulence. Cara amuses herself with the arsenal of weapons, inspecting each blaster and smiling as she catches her reflection in the blades. Both of them saw his coordinates, saw that they lead to nowhere. Neither has said a word, trusting his method but eyeing each other when they witnessed the quivering of his hand as he set them on course.

Mando hasn’t forgotten this set of numbers punched in at random a long time before. Before when he was escaping from yet another perilous attack and was thus forced to lay low for the time being. Completely by chance that one minute he was floating through endless space and the next the atmosphere of an unforeseen planet almost destroyed his ship. 

It was… an experience. When Greef contacted him, it wasn’t until he’d picked up Kuiil from his moisture farm that  _ she  _ had crossed his mind. His heart fluttered at the images that flashed like lightning through his mind, but instead of frightening like those from his childhood they were peaceful, calming. Images of painted fingers tracing over pink scars, of copper skin unblemished across shoulders, collarbones, down a smooth stomach, of small eyes, milky and unawares even as her head cocked in recognition. 

He’s more prepared this time as he takes the Razor Crest out of hyperspace and into the shock of atmospheric pressure as flames lick at the edges of the front window. Cara comes stumbling into the cockpit, throwing herself into the co-pilot chair.

“What the hell’s happening?”

“I’m preparing to land,” he simply replies, grip tense on the steering despite knowing there’s not much he can do until the pressure releases. 

And it does, so suddenly that they both wince in pain when their ears pop. “Kriff, where are we?” Cara asks, moving her jaw to relieve the tension on her eardrums.

“I don’t know the name.” Mando straightens, steering with a certainty of uncharacteristic anticipation. “I found this place by accident a while back before the kid.”

“So who are we picking up now?” Clearly, they’re here for a reason and she wants to know who has this Mandalorian so tightly wound around their finger. 

He answers distractedly, “I don’t think she has a name. If she does, I don’t know it.”

Cara chuckles, smirking and teasing, “Had a spontaneous rendezvous with a mysterious woman?”

He doesn’t answer, gazing instead at the myriad of deep blue and purple permeating the sky. Cara finds herself overwhelmed at the beauty, a sentiment she doesn’t often fall into. It’s interesting, however, because there’s no setting sun or rising moon as far as she can see. Just endless, open sky beginning to be speckled by the constellations. 

They land on a small island in the middle of a vast ocean. The water glows with soft greens and blues of creatures underneath the surface and the sand of the beach is white, smooth save for each step Mando takes into the line of big-leafed trees laden with fruit. 

Amidst the gentle lapping of the waves, he hears Cara’s thundering footsteps down the ramp and turns to say, “Stay here. I’ll be back by morning.”

He brings no weapons except for those built into his armor because he knows he won’t need them, and Cara watches in strange wonderment as his figure disappears within the shadows. 

“What do you think he’s doing?” she asks Kuiil, who stands beside her unconcerned.

“A person’s past is their own. I have spoken.”

Mando walks further into the foliage, the silence deafening as if it’s the calm before the storm. There is no path, but he remembers through clear, unforgotten fragments of his memories where he needs to go. Eventually, after night has fallen and the stars twinkle beautifully down at him, he pushes away a large, red leaf sprouting forth from a tree trunk and comes upon a clearing.

Patches of exotic flowers bloom everywhere, even in the sand where the water steams from where it pools from the waterfall. It’s the hot spring, just as he remembers it. And not a soul in sight. An untouched paradise of tranquility.

He takes a deep breath before removing his helmet and setting it on the sand, followed by the rest of his beskar. It sits in a neat pile once even his boots are off, and he stands there at the edge of the water, bare feet digging into the soft sand, the water just barely brushing over his toes as he closes his eyes. A gentle breeze kisses his cheeks, ruffles his hair, calms him like no other. 

Then he begins with a small step forward. Then another. And another until he’s waist-deep in the warm water, steam skewing his view of the jungle around him before he takes in a gulp of air and dives.

Underneath the waterfall, the wall of wet rock and tangled vines, he breaks the surface of the water into an enclosed domain. The hot spring is different here on the other side. Where once was sand, it’s now stone, smoothed down by the erosion over time, and a man-made step lines the edge. Sweetgrass grows across the ground in healthy abundance, dotted by flowers, rocks, and a great tree with a spread of arching branches like a shade in the middle.

A painted hand reaches down towards Mando and he grasps it in his own instinctively, but as his eyes trail up the arm and to the face of someone familiar, he smiles. The hand pulls him out of the water and onto the pillow of sweetgrass where the breath is suddenly stolen from his lungs.

“Your smile is very loud, Din Djarin,” you say, though your own breaks out across your face reflected by the shine of the water.

You are the epitome of perfection to him. Dark eyes covered by a film of white, tender lips in a soft smile, copper skin covered by a flowing, white dress. You are an ethereal being; last time felt like a dream, and this time, even with your hand firmly in his, stills feels as unreal. 

“Your smile is very beautiful,” he replies once he feels he won’t pass out from lack of oxygen.

“You are beautiful.” You bring a hand up to his cheek, loving the feel of his facial hair against your palm as you rub your thumb along the bone and the heat that rushes to the surface at your compliment. 

“Come,” you say, pulling away to grasp his hand again, “I want to show you my favorite spot.”

You turn, dress swirling about your ankles, and he lets himself be pulled along into the branches of the great tree. The leaves, glowing just like the sea creatures in the water, tickle his skin where they touch, and they must be leaving lingering touches of luminescence shining on his skin as they do on yours. The two of you break through the veil into the heart. Din looks up in amazement, seeing the greens and blues swirling together with the breeze far above his head. 

You lift his hand above your head, twirling like an elegant dancer as you say, “I feel as if I can hear the beating of a healthy heart deep within the trunk of this magnificent tree. I like the way the branches rustle with the wind, the smell of the budding flowers, but it is this thumping of this rhythmic dance that I enjoy most.” You stop twirling into his arms and move your mouth closer to his ear. “Because it is alive just like you and me.” 

“I want to kiss you,” Din whispers, tilting his head forward until his lips barely brush against your own.

But then you’re bounding away, your giggles permeating the air and he smiles, chasing after you in a lovesick trance. ‘Round and ‘round the wide trunk you go until he no longer sees your form skipping with joy. He stops, wondering where you’ve gone when your arms wrap around his waist from behind and suddenly the world is right again. 

“I remember the taste of your lips,” you say as he turns slow in your arms, “Do they still taste the same?”

He captures your mouth in his without hesitation and the feeling is supernova. He wants to touch you everywhere; your cheeks, your waist, down the expanse of your back in between. Your hands tangle themselves in his wet locks of hair, tugging and pulling as the heat intensifies and now your back is pressed against the soft bark of the tree trunk. He does indeed taste quite the same as before.

Din has craved your lips on his for a long time; his addiction to your delicacy is unparalleled. Now that he finally has it he needs more or he may not be back by morning as he promised Cara. He doesn’t want to ask you to come with him for fear that your innocence will be tainted by the harshness of the rest of the galaxy. As much as he never wants to leave you again, the thought makes him cherish these moments far more than he would. 

You gasp once he leaves your swollen lips in favor of traveling down your jaw to your neck. Your hand grips his shirt, fisting it the longer he kisses the sweet spot that has your knees buckling.

“Make love to me, Din,” you state, head falling back in long-awaited ecstasy, “as I will make love to you.”

With such a declaration of love, he pulls back with adoration shining in his eyes and lifts you into his arms. Laying you down in the sweetgrass, he hovers over you and though you can’t see the way he gazes down at you, pillowed by the blades of green, you can feel his love in the pounding of his heart and shaking of his limbs. 

“You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. It scares me.” The tremor of his voice sends shivers down your spine and goosebumps to arise over your skin.

Your hand finds his cheek once more, fingers brushing back a loose strand of hair as you reply, “Do not be afraid.”

He pulls off his wet shirt before falling down upon you. His skin is decorated with scars, some new and some old, some ragged and some smooth, but you trace each one as he kisses you with fervor. Then he unties the bow that holds your dress together at the nape of your neck. 

Your breasts spill out from beneath the silk as he pulls it away and he palms each with his calloused hands. A mark to your jaw, a mark to your neck, a mark to your collarbone before he places his lips to your perking nipple. You moan with pleasure and feel him smile against your breast.

But he hesitates once he reaches your sternum. 

Quietly, you remove your dress yourself and take his hand in yours. “Find me, Din.” You drag his hand down your stomach and to your core, letting go as he swipes his knuckles with a flutter up and down. 

He pushes a single finger in as slowly as he can and the knot in your stomach begins to unravel. This is far from the first time he’s done things like this, but he feels akin to a blushing virgin with you. He wants to be good for you, to do good for you. Your pleasure is his pleasure. 

He adds a second finger, pumping slowly and loving the hitch in your breathing when he does. But then his thumb touches your bud and suddenly the knot is unraveling at a pace you can’t even fathom. And it’s with a slow, barely audible moan that you come undone with his fingers dragging your orgasm out as long as it can go. 

The sight of your eyes closed and head thrown back as waves of pleasure rock through your body twitches his cock and he realizes how desperately he needs his own release. So he’s pulling off his pants and crawling back over your naked body, eyeing each of his marks until he’s face to face with you once more. 

“ _ Darasuum, _ ” he says, kissing your brow.

“What does that mean?” you ask, still breathless.

“Eternal. That is my love for you.”

With those words, he pushes into you languidly, like the two of you have all the time in the world, pausing and sighing once he reaches the hilt. You take him so easily, body seemingly remembering this sensual lover from before and accepting his touch willingly. You mold together so perfectly that even the Force finds it unfathomable.

His first thrust is slow but powerful and full of passion for you, this woman he doesn’t know but who knows him better than anyone. Strange circumstances brought you together and now your love could knock a planet off its axis. 

You kiss his forehead with the second thrust, tasting the salt of the sea on your tongue. He doesn’t quicken the pace, but you lock your ankles behind his back in order to feel him deeper, fuller within you. This indulgence will only hurt you in the end, but it feels so good right now in this moment as you moan in unison with him, this man who now found you twice. 

Din has never felt something as pleasurable as your walls clenching around him as he slides in and out at a pace all his own. He loves you, he truly does. Around you, he can be Din, not The Mandalorian. His helmet can be forgotten, his armor discarded, his posture and mind relaxed because nothing, no one can hurt him here. You wouldn’t let them. 

Tears are flowing down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat and seawater he’s accumulated as he climaxes with a harsh groan, releasing into you and the walls that clench even harder. Pain and pleasure go hand in hand, and he can’t stop the flow even as his head drifts back down from the clouds to your shoulder where he’s placed himself. 

“Don’t cry,” you soothe, fingers running through his hair, “you will be back again.”

“I may not be.” He chokes on the words as he says them.

“You  _ will _ .” Despite the film covering your eyes, he feels as if his soul is bared to you as you grasp his cheeks in both hands with a firm yet gentle touch. 

~ ~ ~

Cara watches from the cockpit as Mando emerges from the treeline as he’d promised the night before. He seems more… relaxed. As he sits beside her in the pilot’s chair, dexterity in his posture and new vigor in his disposition even though his mood seems somber at best, she wonders who this mysterious woman is to him.

“I thought we were picking her up?” she asks with a raised brow, curiosity burning her tongue.

His modulated voice answers back, “No, I just needed to see her.”

She only hums in response, a knowing smile creeping onto her face as he prepares for liftoff from this mysterious planet home to this mysterious woman. 


End file.
